Page 17 of The Lost Zone (Dark Water #3)

Chapter Six

Alex

They were given a brief breakfast, entirely at odds with the leisurely meals Alex had enjoyed for the past few weeks. F patrolled constantly, making it clear that talking was forbidden, so there was no chance for Alex to get to know his new companions.

After breakfast, they were ushered into a workroom full of laundry and kitchen equipment to find B waiting for them.

“Welcome to lesson one,” she said brightly. “Ironing.”

Alex looked around the room incredulously, but apparently nobody else found this as ridiculous as he did. His fellow indies looked enthralled, as if this was the number-one thing they had come here to learn.

“Ironing?” Alex queried. “As in… sheets and clothes?”

“That’s right. Everyone go to a work station,” B instructed, pointing at the five ironing boards arranged around the room.

“Ironing?” Alex raised an eyebrow at Two, who smiled at him cheerfully in return.

“Problem, One?” F asked menacingly.

“Not at all. Ironing. Fascinating.” Alex went to his ironing board and stood behind it, wondering what the hell was going on.

Tyler had made it quite clear that his primary purpose as an IS was to be used for sex.

All the workouts were to hone his body and increase his stamina, and all the tedious grooming sessions and clothes fittings were to make him look good for Tyler’s guests.

Alex would have been far less surprised to have walked into a red-velvet dungeon filled with sex toys and a swing.

B launched into a detailed explanation of the finer points of ironing technique.

Alex tuned it out and turned his attention instead to his new companions.

They all looked completely ordinary. None of them had the looks he’d have expected if their purpose was to provide sexual services.

It made far more sense that they were here precisely to learn how to perform mundane household tasks.

B brought out five baskets, all filled with crumpled white sheets. Alex suspected she’d been saving up his own sheets from the previous few weeks especially for this task. She gave each IS a basket to work through and patrolled the room, smiling pleasantly and giving advice.

Alex dutifully began pressing his pile of sheets.

It was hot work, and he slid his finger under the white ID necklace around his neck; the plastic was far less comfortable than Tyler’s gold necklace.

He fretted about the missing photos as he ironed.

Who could have taken them and why? What precisely was going on here?

Why had it all changed so suddenly, and most importantly, how could he get his photos back?

After several tedious hours, B collected their baskets and examined them. Alex’s was by far the least impressive. B held up a poorly folded, still partially crumpled sheet with a sad sigh.

“Did you use the steam setting, One?”

“Uh… I don’t remember. Was I supposed to?” Alex doubted if Tyler would care if he left Belvedere being able to iron or not; it was hardly why he’d spent millions buying him. Luckily, he was saved from further scrutiny of his poor handiwork by a loud klaxon signalling lunch.

Bowls of soup were waiting for them in the dining room, with D presiding over the food as usual.

Alex took a bowl and sat down opposite Two, who was quietly blowing onto his soup to cool it.

F patrolled the room, prohibiting conversation until gormless Five dropped his bowl on his way to the table, splattering his white clothes with bright red tomato stains.

F flew into a rage. He stood over Five and yelled at him until the poor lad’s face was as red as his overalls.

Then he grabbed Five by the arm and hauled him off to change.

“This wasn’t what I was expecting,” Alex murmured once F was out of the room.

“Me, neither,” Two replied. “There’s no need for all the yelling and hitting. It doesn’t help anyone to learn.”

“That wasn’t what I found unexpected,” Alex said. “Yelling and hitting were precisely what I thought would happen here. I was talking about the ironing – what the hell’s that all about?”

“This is the country’s most exclusive training course for personal servants. Learning how to take good care of your houder’s belongings is central to that.” Two gave Alex a curious look. “What were you expecting, if not this?”

Alex grunted. “Let’s just say my houder has very specific plans for me, and I’m sure they don’t include doing his laundry.”

“You think you’re too good for this?” Two’s brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

“God, no. I’d love it if this was what my houder wanted from me.” Alex watched as Two shook out his napkin and arranged it elegantly on his lap.

“I was watching you earlier, and I wondered…” Two gave Alex a thoughtful look. “Have you ever ironed anything before? In fact, have you ever done any kind of menial work at all in your entire life?”

“No,” Alex admitted. “At home, we always had an army of indies to do it for us, and at university…”

“Yes?”

“I had an indie looking after me there, too,” he said quietly.

“I thought so.” Two grinned at him.

“Do you know who I am?” Alex asked, and then he grimaced, because that hadn’t come out the way he’d intended.

Two raised an eyebrow. “Not a clue. Should I?”

“I was in the news several months ago. I just wondered…” Alex trailed off, feeling gauche.

“Like most indentured servants, my leisure time is limited,” Two told him “Online use is restricted, and I’m rarely permitted to watch a screen. I have no idea who you are.”

“You think I’m some spoilt little rich kid who got sentenced into servitude for drunk driving or drug dealing, don’t you?”

“No, but I do think you need help ironing – you’re terrible at it.” Two winked, and Alex couldn’t help laughing. Seconds later, F returned to the room with a chastened, red-faced Five, and silence resumed.

The afternoon was spent performing the same ironing drudgery as the morning.

Alex observed his new companions, trying to get the measure of them.

Three was a jolly, bustling know-it-all, who liked to hand out unsolicited advice.

Four was dour and self-contained, performing every task with meticulous slowness in pursuit of perfection.

The young lad, Five, was a hapless bumbler who put his heart into whatever he was working on, although the end results weren’t impressive.

His basket of laundry was the least well ironed, after Alex’s.

Two performed every task with a wry, languid air as if he’d done it all before, which, clearly, he had – his sheets were perfectly ironed by the end of the day. Even B couldn’t have done better.

Two noticed his scrutiny and shot him the occasional conspiratorial wink. Alex had a feeling that Two was going to be an easy person to like.

He continued to fret about the photos as he worked, wondering whether to feign an injury so he could see the doctor and ask him about them.

C had been kind to him, and Alex felt they had a rapport.

He mulled over this plan for a while before deciding to go ahead with it.

Ostentatiously dropping the hot iron on his foot, he then hopped around dramatically.

“I need to see the doctor,” he announced to a worried B. She cast an uncertain glance at F, who shrugged and put through a call to the doctor.

Alex felt a pang of guilt as B helped him to a chair in a small anteroom, knelt down beside him, and patted his knee sympathetically. C turned up a few minutes later, and B returned to the ironing room. C started to examine Alex’s foot, but Alex waved him aside.

“What the hell is going on?” Alex hissed. “This place went from holiday camp to boot camp in the space of a day. Five-thirty wake-up calls, sessions in the gym, and ironing, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you warn me?”

C blinked owlishly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“But you knew this was what it would be like when it did. What’s with the ironing?”

“It’s in the prospectus.” C looked startled.

“I haven’t read the prospectus.”

C frowned. “That’s very unusual. Usually, houders discuss it with their indies. It’s a very expensive training course, and they want to get the best from it. It helps if the indie is fully committed.”

“None of this makes sense. There is no way my houder sent me here to learn how to iron.”

“He saw the syllabus,” C said. “It was very clear about the ironing.”

Alex almost burst out laughing because it was so ridiculous.

“Look, I need a favour.” Alex leaned forward.

“I’ve lost something. I tore some pictures of my family and…

some other people… from the magazines in the rec room.

I was keeping them under my pillow, but I think F might have taken them.

Is there any way you could find them and give them back to me? ”

“Photos?” C blinked several times, looking nervous. “I doubt F would have any interest in your photographs.”

“He’s a sadist – he probably took them to hurt me.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” C said mildly. “He has a job to do here. You wouldn’t believe some of the indies we’re sent. F has to make sure everyone works hard and stays on track, so he can be a little loud and overbearing, but he’s not a bad chap really.”

“Not a bad chap? He beat Two with his stick for no reason. He’s a bastard who enjoys hurting people. I know – I’ve seen his kind before.”

C looked concerned. “Oh dear. I’ll report it to A. Maybe F is a little out of control.”

“And the photos?” Alex asked eagerly. “Can you get them for me?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” C gave his usual, slightly bemused smile and left.

Alex was sick of ironing by the end of the day and glad when the klaxon rang for dinner. B announced that they’d all done very well, and the next day they’d move on to shirts. Alex could hardly contain his excitement.